Portrait of a Lady: The Gentleman Courtesans Book 1 Page 7

  A short black coat clung to broad shoulders and flaunted a tapered waist, while matching breeches and Hessian boots molded to his legs. The entire suit was enhanced with opulent gold braid, swirling in patterns ending in elaborate knots. Shining gold buttons lined the coat-front in two vertical rows. A matching cape draped his right shoulder, held in place by a gold chain. A black mask covered his eyes and nose, while a cylindrical hat with a tall black plume sat at a rakish angle atop his head. A decorative saber hung in a sheath off his left hip.

  “Miss...could that be him?”

  Evelyn couldn’t look away from him, though she did offer Patience a slow nod. It had to be him. She was not the sort of woman men generally noticed. That he watched her so intently must mean he was the one she’d come to meet.

  “He looks so dashing,” Patience gushed, jostling Evelyn as she bounced with barely contained excitement. One would think she was the one beginning an illicit affair tonight.

  Evelyn wanted to argue that Patience couldn’t possibly tell how handsome Hugh might be from this distance. He might have crossed eyes, or a carbuncle on his nose, or possess one eyebrow instead of two. But then, she told herself she was being foolish. Of course he was handsome, his profession as a courtesan would demand it. And he did cut a dashing.

  Her heart beat in double time as, one hand braced on the hilt of his saber, he started across the grass in their direction. Her gut clenched. She felt as if she might swoon in a dead faint.

  She finally found her voice, though it came out a rough whisper when she blurted, “Dear God, he’s coming this way.”

  * * *

  Hugh took his time approaching the woman he felt certain must be Evelyn. Her note had told him she would attend the masquerade dressed as the goddess Diana. While such habits were certainly fashionable amongst the ton, and he knew she couldn’t be the only one here dressed as the goddess, Hugh was confident it must be her. It wasn’t only the dark hair he could make out in the light of the lamps, which fit Benedict’s description of her. It was the wide-eyed look of outright terror he noticed as he drew closer.

  Upon first glance, one might think her a tempting seductress, her choice of fancy dress both scandalous and daring. She had elected to portray Diana as the moon goddess as opposed to a huntress, in a thin white gown that left little to the imagination. It clung to her bosom, its low neckline displaying an abundance of creamy, pale flesh, and flowed around her hips and legs like a gossamer curtain. The sweeping sleeves hinted at an ill fit, one of them slipping off her shoulder when she moved. He couldn’t help a little chuckle when she swiftly pulled it back up and used a shawl in a display of modesty that lent truth to Benedict’s assessment of her. She was innocent, untouched, and—if her expression was any indication—agonizingly shy.

  Drawing closer, he took her in from head to toe and decided that bedding her wouldn’t be much of a trial. She was lovely, her dark sable hair swept into a whimsical coiffure with tiny seed pearls interspersed throughout, undoubtedly meant to symbolize the stars in the heavens. A white mask hid much from him, but he made out a button nose, and a pair of shapely pink lips. Some sort of silvery powder had been applied to her exposed skin, making her look as if she’d been sprinkled with stardust.

  As his gaze locked onto her décolletage and held, he decided that if this woman was to be his final keeper, she would do.

  She’d do very well, indeed.

  Her mouth fell open when he paused before her, flashing his best, charming smile. Hugh had meant to put her at ease, but his nearness only seemed to make matters worse. Meanwhile, the Dresden shepherdess standing beside Evelyn grinned knowingly at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief. A man in a black domino eyed him with caution, but said nothing, acting as a silent guard for the two women.

  “Evelyn, I presume,” he said when she merely stood there staring at him.

  There was no need for formality between them, not when he’d been hired for the express purpose of becoming this woman’s bedmate. Best they breeze through the pleasantries and establish some sort of rapport as soon as possible.

  The shepherdess nudged Evelyn forward, and she gripped her shawl tight over her bosom with one while offering him the other.

  “Yes,” she croaked. “And you must be…”

  Her voice might be soft and sweet, if not for the shaky nervousness gripping it.

  “Hugh Radcliffe, at your service,” he murmured, lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles.

  She wore no gloves and neither did he, the first touch of her fingers against his warm and stunningly pleasant. As he straightened from the kiss, he couldn’t help but stare down at her hands for a moment. They were beautiful, with long, graceful fingers—the sort of hands that would make perfect subjects for sketching practice. Which only reminded him that were he to attempt sketching or painting them, he’d probably muck it up.

  “It is nice to meet you, Mr. Radcliffe,” she said, her voice losing a bit of its roughness.

  Mr. Radcliffe. Apparently, there would be no rushing past the formalities with this one.

  “The honor is all mine,” he replied, maintaining a loose hold on her hand.

  She didn’t seem in a hurry to pull away, though her fingers did tremble against his palm. The poor thing seemed ready to turn and flee.

  “You’ve arrived just in time,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Have you ever witnessed the performance of the Cascade? It is really something.”

  Her gaze flitted to the curtain closed over the attraction that was only unveiled a few times each night. “No, I cannot say I have.”

  “You will enjoy it, I’m sure,” he said, stepping a bit closer.

  He detected her scent, a pleasant bouquet—jasmine, musk, and what he thought might be orange blossom. Large, dark-brown eyes lifted to meet his, and she drew in a slow breath as if to calm herself. Meanwhile, his body reacted with predictable intent, his cock stirring as his gaze fell to where she used the shawl to conceal the tantalizing view of her cleavage.

  “Well then,” the shepherdess chirped. “The two of you ought to enjoy the Cascade, while Joseph and I go find some other form of diversion. Come, Joseph.”

  Evelyn gave her companion a panicked glance, but the other woman pretended not to notice as she looped one arm through that of the man in the domino.

  “Do not worry about us, Miss,” the woman said. “Joseph and I will find our way home, and I’m certain Mr. Radcliffe will be happy to see you there safely. Won’t you, Mr. Radcliffe?”

  Hugh held in a laugh at the eagerness he detected in her voice. She seemed determined for Evelyn to enjoy herself this evening, despite her obvious trepidation.

  “Of course,” he said, mostly to Evelyn. “She is perfectly safe with me.”

  “As I thought,” the shepherdess said with a decisive nod. “Good evening.”

  “Good-bye, Patience,” Evelyn replied, giving the shepherdess a scathing glare through the slits of her mask.

  Patience merely dragged Joseph along, a wicked smile splitting her red lips. The pair disappeared down the Dark Walk, leaving him as alone with Evelyn as he could be amongst the crowd of revelers. No one paid them the slightest bit of attention as he coaxed her hand into the crook of his arm, guiding her toward the tree he’d just been standing under. A bit removed from the crowd, the spot would offer them a few moments to talk before the performance began.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said as they halted beneath the tree. “I thought meeting in public for the first time would be best, and I’ve never been to a Vauxhall masquerade that I didn’t enjoy.”

  “I-I have never attended one,” she admitted, her gaze darting as she seemed to try to decide where to look.

  At last, her stare landed on his chest and the decadent gold braid adorning his coat.

  “What do you think thus far?” he asked, leaning one shoulder against the tree.

  She glanced up at the lanterns hanging over them, her fingers loosening on her shawl. The g
arment gaped open, giving him a glimpse of her silvery skin. It was quite the most kissable patch of flesh he’d ever seen. But, if he pressed his lips there just now, Hugh imagined she might faint in his arms.

  “The gardens are breathtaking at night, with all the lights and the music,” she replied.

  “Yes,” he replied. “The sort of thing that can’t really be described. One must see it for themselves. Once we view the Cascade, perhaps we might walk a bit more so you can take in the rest. I quite like the Chinese temple, and the triumphal arches along the South Grand Walk are quite beautiful as well. If you’re amenable, perhaps we might find an empty supper box?”

  She bit her lip, fingers toying with her shawl as she finally met his gaze. “I’ll admit to being famished. I was too nervous to eat before arriving tonight. I know Benedict informed you I’ve never done anything like this before. In fact, I feel certain that if anyone were to catch wind of this, they’d never believe it.”

  With any other woman, he might have reached out to touch her—stroke her cheek, cup her jaw, take her hand. Those things had always worked well for him in the past, but he could see Evelyn was not quite ready for that. But she had just strung together three sentences without faltering, so he would keep her talking for now.

  “There is no need to be anxious,” he assured her. “This arrangement is completely dependent on what you want. Your every wish is my command, Evelyn.”

  She seemed momentarily taken aback, as if she had expected him to whisk her off to some dark corner of the gardens and ravish her.

  “I...thank you,” she stammered.

  He opened his mouth to ask her what had driven her to hire him, when he was interrupted by the chiming bell signaling that the curtain was about to lift.

  “It’s time,” he said, taking hold of her hand. “Come, let’s get a little closer.”

  She didn’t resist as he led her back toward the curtain, bringing them nearer to the concealed Cascade. It was his favorite thing about Vauxhall Gardens, and he made it a point to view the performance each time he came here. Along the way, he hailed a waiter moving through the crowd with a tray of filled champagne flutes. He purchased two glasses, handing one over to Evelyn before guiding her even closer, shouldering his way through the swarm of bodies angling for a closer look. He hoped the drink would go a long way toward loosening her up a bit. Their arrangement going well might depend on whether she enjoyed herself tonight, and he needed to push things along. Once she felt at ease with him, the rest would fall into place.

  He managed to get her near the front of the crowd, where she could see past the people standing in front of them, just before the curtain parted to reveal the cascade. The sound of rushing water greeted them, along with a swift flash of light to illuminate the scene. Evelyn paused with her champagne flute held to her lips as she took in the scene, eyes wide with awe. He watched her instead of the Cascade, having seen it enough times to know what to expect. Just now, he found himself both amused and enchanted by her reaction to it, eyes twinkling, and lips parted as she stared in silent wonder.

  Painted countryside scenery appeared real with the hidden glow of lamps shining down upon it—rolling hills and trees in the distance, with a bridge, a miller’s house, and a water mill in the foreground, all working as a backdrop for a mechanical waterfall. What looked like water flowed over a downward slope, while movement in the background portrayed wagons and soldiers on horseback moving back and forth across the bridge at regular intervals. Flashes of light preceded crashes of thunder, the effects of a storm accompanying the roar of the water cascading and rolling in a way that made it all look so real.

  “Spectacular,” Evelyn murmured, her voice mostly smothered by the delighted gasps and exclamations from the crowd. She leaned a bit closer to him but kept her eyes on the waterfall. “How does it work?”

  He caught another whiff of her scent as he leaned down to reply, a lock of her hair tickling his cheek. “The Cascade is formed from sheets of tin attached to rows of belts. You cannot see them, of course, as it would detract from the magic of it, but there are a team of men operating behind the painted scene. They run the mechanism that makes the Cascade move like flowing water, manipulate the lights, and produce the sounds. I told you, it really is quite something.”

  She turned her head to look up at him, seeming to have underestimated just how close he was standing. Their lips brushed, the tip of her nose bumping against his. She drew in a sharp breath, flinching away as much as the crowd allowed. With the lamps blazing all round them, he could see the flush spreading over her cheeks, feel the rush of her breath against his cheek as she reacted to their near-kiss.

  He suddenly wanted that kiss more than he would have thought possible. If it wouldn’t send her running through the gardens in terror, he might have done it. He might have gripped her nape and drawn her in, fitting his mouth over hers right then and there.

  Taking things slowly with her was going to be more difficult than he’d anticipated.

  She swiftly turned her gaze back to the Cascade, taking a large gulp of her champagne. “I cannot look away...it is quite breathtaking.”

  He took hold of her hand again and gave it a little squeeze, hoping the gesture reassured her if nothing else. “We can stay and watch as long as you want; the performance lasts ten minutes.”

  So, they remained to watch the spectacle while sipping their champagne, even as others came and went all around them. Hugh felt her hand slacken a bit in his hold, not quite as stiff as it had been when he’d first taken it. By the time the curtain dropped, she had finished her champagne and seemed to have recovered from the awkwardness of before.

  She took his arm and allowed him to guide her away from the now quiet Cascade, as the spectators began to disperse, seeking other amusement. Without giving her a chance to succumb to her anxiety again, he quickly led her toward the Centre Cross Walk in the direction of the triumphal arches, procuring more champagne for them along the way. Evelyn had loosened up quite a bit, her hand heavy on his arm, her gait more graceful without the previous stiffness he’d noticed in her back.

  He glanced over to find her sipping her second glass of champagne and studying the sights around her—the crumbled faux ruins built here and there, the colored lanterns, the pairs of lovers slipping off various pathways with hands clasped and voices lowered to whispers. He found his gaze drawn to her mouth, glistening and pink, just begging to be kissed. Since coming so close a moment ago, he found himself eager to try again, to kiss her in truth. Part of him supposed it would make her comfortable with him and get that first act of intimacy out of the way. But deep down, he couldn’t ignore the realization that it wasn’t only that. He actually wanted to kiss her, and not just because it was now his job to please her. Hugh wanted to know what she’d taste like, what those pretty lips would feel like against his, the sounds she’d make when he found the perfect angle, the right amount of pressure.

  He wanted it so badly, that as they passed under the arches so Evelyn could enjoy their beauty illuminated by the lights, he found himself plotting and planning, trying to determine the perfect moment and setting. It wasn’t only about kissing her, but about making it memorable in keeping with his reputation. She’d told Benedict she wanted romanticism, and he was obligated to deliver. It had to be absolutely perfect.

  “Tell me more about you,” he coaxed as they walked along at a sedate pace. “Anything at all.”

  They paused to let a drunkard dressed as a priest rush past them, where he promptly fell into the bushes with a noisy retch. Hugh cringed, moving her along a bit faster and away from the unpleasant sight.

  “Well...I have just turned five-and-twenty,” she began. “How old are you?”

  “Nine-and-twenty,” he replied with a smirk. “Positively ancient.”

  She snorted. “Not when you are a man. Try being an unwed female at my age. Apparently, I’m positively decrepit.”

  He paused beneath one of the arches, the splas
h of a pink lantern warming Evelyn’s complexion. This time, he didn’t resist the urge to touch her, trailing his knuckles along her cheek toward the line of her jaw. She went as still as death, but didn’t pull away, her gaze locked with his as he gave her a smile.

  “There is nothing decrepit about you,” he murmured, the words falling so easily from his tongue it was laughable.

  He was good at this, showering women with praise and turning them into soft, pliable clay in his hands. But tonight he found he hardly had to try. Maybe it was the environment of the gardens, or the novelty of starting at the beginning with someone new. Whatever it was, he found himself acting without thought, speaking without effort, and it was actually enjoyable for a change. Not something to do for the sake of money, but something he simply wanted to do. He was certain it would pass, as the novelty of a new thing often did, but for now he would choose to enjoy it.

  He let his knuckles trail lower, over her thrumming pulse and toward her collarbone. Her shawl had fallen to hang around her elbows and she hadn’t seemed to notice until just then. Her shimmering flesh was on display again, beckoning to him, begging to be touched and kissed. She drew in a breath and held it as he let the tip of one finger trace the neckline of her gown, sending goosebumps over her skin in his wake.

  She trembled, but remained still, staring up at him as he explored the flesh left bare by her gown, trailing back up to her shoulder and down one arm. A shudder wracked her, translating from her arm to the tips of his fingers.

  So responsive. He’d barely even touched her, and already she was coming alive, her body practically vibrating with the promise of what it might be like to bed her.

  Hugh revisited his earlier assessment that fucking her wouldn’t be a trial and decided he’d had it all wrong. Bedding this woman would be an absolute pleasure.